Phelps: I think we should call for a couple of black and whites. Get Fleischer down here.
Bekowsky: I thought you marines were gung ho, Cole. You have a .45. Don't you ever want to use it? I'll take the back just give me a few seconds to get around there.
Phelps: Cole Phelps, LAPD. All of you are coming Downtown with me.
Man 1: You think so, huh? Look sharp, it's the cops!
Phelps: Pull out the guns. Let's move forward.
Bekowsky: Your covered, Phelps:
Man 2: I'll put holes in you asshole.
Phelps: You are a dead man.
Bekowsky: You're exposed. Covering Fire.
Phelps: Let's clear the top floor. I don't want to get drilled in the back on the way out.
Bekowsky: Weapons on the ground now.
Phelps: Try the door at the end. I heard something.
Bigelow: All right, all right. Don't shoot.
Phelps: Keep you hands up. Watch him, Bekowsky, He doesn't Move until I've tossed the place. Marquee Printing Company, There's nothing like going direct to the source. A betting slip. Looks like Mr. Leitvol has been on a losing streak. There are enough slips here to keep them stealing cars till Christmas.
We've got a trail of pink slips and stolen cars that leads right to your door, Bigelow. You're in this up to your neck, but I don't think you're the man in charge. Make it easy on yourself. Give him up.
Bigelow: I do work on cars for customers. You charge in here shooting up the place like it's the Battle of the Bulge. I can't give you anything.
Phelps: We know about Marquee Printing. You can make this easier on yourself by giving us your man on the inside.
Bigelow: I sometimes repair cars and put them back on the road. I need a pink slip to resell them. There's no problem there.
Phelps: There are at least four dead men in this Warehouse. A couple more punks won't make for that much more extra paperwork.
Bigelow: Okay, okay, though guy, I get the message. Leitvol, the guy who runs Marquee. He's the big shot. He likes to spend big at the track. He owes people.
Phelps: Leitvol, the guy with no luck at the track. Tell me about him.
Bigelow: He's one of the guys lying over there. You're right. He has no luck.
Phelps: That's the best lie you can come up with, Bigelow?
Bigelow: Hey, would I lie to you, Detective? I'm not exactly in a good position here now, am I?
Phelps: Gordon Leitvol owns Marquee Printing. A government print shop. He's losing big at the track.
Bigelow: He has these big government contracts. He's in hock over 20 grand. If the Feds find out, the contracts will be all over. Lietvol plays ball.
Phelps: All right, Bigelow, the heat is off you. Play your cards right and you'll be able to count your time in Quentin on one hand.
Can you drive to this one?
Bekowsy: So where do you want to go?
Phelps: What a mess.
Bekowsky: Going to take some cleaning up, that's for sure.
Phelps: I wish it hadn't gone that way.
Bekowsky: Well, they shouldn't bring guns to work with them. We didn't have a lot of choice.
Phelps: You have to admire the bare-faced cheek of someone who tries to blow your brains out one minute, then pleads innocence the next.
Bekowsky: Especially when he's surrounded by evidence. Guys like Bigelow spend to much time convincing themselves that they're not doing anything wrong, that they actually start to believe their own bullshit.
Phelps: They got sloppy. Bigelow, Leitvol, all of them. If they hadn't, who knows how long they could have kept this racket going. Complacency or greed. It's always one of the two that brings them down.
You're under arrest.
Leitvol: You again? This harassment is starting to wear thin.
Phelps: We found a box of pink slips in a warehouse full of hot cars. You signed for them, Leitvol.
Leitvol: I sign for all the orders and deliveries. You'll need something better than that, cowboy.
Phelps: Save it, Leitvol. We already have all we need to send you down.
Leitvol: I've had enough of this. You either produce some shred of proof or I call my attorney.
Phelps: You're in the hole with the organization. We know about the debts, Leitvol.
Leitvol: I agree I have a small problem. I'm prepared to help you in anyway I can, Detective. I'll name names. I need you to keep this out of the paper. I need...
Phelps: You need to shut up now, Leitvol. Gordon Lietvol, I'm charging you with conspiracy and fraud. Hands behind your back.
Cpt. Leary: "The LAPD's Central Traffic division has today smashed a nation wide auto theft ring, writes crime correspondent..." Blah, blah, blah... Oh, here it is. "Traffic Squad detectives confronted a large group of armed thugs. After an exchange of gunfire, more than a dozen dead criminals were removed from the scene. The LAPD sustained no casualties."
Damn fine work, Phelps. Now get out there and nail some more bad guys, will you. I want to finish reading this.